Page 140 of Modern Romance June 2025 5-8

‘And Alessina International? What exactly is a brokerage firm?’ Ivy asked.

‘I help negotiate between people who want to have something and people who want to sell something.’

Ivy could see how that worked. Money, transactions, she saw, were important to him.

‘I’m proud of it,’ he continued. ‘We have offices in several major cities, employ over a thousand people and have a turnover that would make most businessmen weep,’ he announced with a passion she could see was true and honest.

‘Congratulations,’ Ivy replied sincerely. ‘I can’t imagine how hard you had to work to make that happen. Especially in such a short amount of time.’

He nodded, accepting her praise, but she wasn’t entirely sure he heard her. She’d meant it. Ivy really was impressed by what he’d achieved, knowing that it had been done in spite of his grandfather, rather than because of him.

But she couldn’t help feeling that Antonio might be taking a wrong turn with what the assessor would be interested in.

‘Do you think that the assessor might want to know other things, rather than what we know about each other?’ Rather than each other’s CVs, she thought privately, but stopped herself from saying that.

‘No,’ he dismissed. ‘Honestly, this meeting will be a walk in the park. We’ll just explain that we met in London—’ he rolled his hand ‘—had a whirlwind romance—’ another roll ‘—we were young and wanted to be together, couldn’t bear for it to end—’

He broke off as Ivy failed to stifle her laughter.

‘What?’ he demanded, for some reason moving her glass of wine slightly out of her reach.

‘You might want to look a little less flippant when you say that,’ she advised.

‘Say what?’

‘That we wanted to be together? It’s undermined a little by the distaste so evident in your tone.’

Antonio’s sigh of frustration as he sank back into the chair almost made Ivy feel sorry for him. Almost. She wondered whether his autocratic nature had increased because of the power and money he had amassed, or because people were intimidated by him and agreed to his every whim.

‘Okay,’ he said, leaning across the table and taking her hand. ‘We were so young,’ he said, repeating his earlier words, this time his tone like honey, pouring over her skin. ‘We thought we were in love, unable to bear the agony of being apart.’ The espresso-rich gaze bored into her, the intent furrow of his brow casting his face in shadow, emphasising the graze of stubble across his jawline.

Even though the dusk of the evening made it harder for her to see, Ivy was still hit by the near brutal impact of his masculinity. The shirt button, opened at his neck by frustrated impatient fingers, displayed a dusting of dark hair over olive skin, just enough to tease an underworked imagination. It had been years since she’d thought about men. Since she’d had the chance, or the inclination. After the accident, the little energy she did have was needed to simply get up and face the day.

‘We married in a whirlwind,’ he continued, drawing her further into the fantasy he was weaving, utterly uncaring of the impact he was having on her, intentionally or otherwise. ‘And for a few spectacular weeks it was perfection.’

She almost believed it herself, the sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at her. As if…as if…

‘But then reality hit, hard and fast. I had to return to Italy. You had to stay in England, and the relationship just petered out,’ he concluded with a shrug.

Ivy nodded, willing her heartbeat to slow. Cleared her throat. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I think that will be enough.’

‘Signor Gallo? C’è qualcuno qui che vuole vederla.’

Ivy jumped at Agata’s statement, wondering how long she had been standing in the doorway.

‘The assessor is here. She’s early,’ he commented.

Ivy nodded, and cast a look at the remaining wine in her glass. It hadn’t been a great idea—alcohol on top of the exhaustion and unfamiliarity of the location. She’d probably bump into a wall or something, but at least both Antonio and the assessor would only think she was tipsy.

‘Shall I bring her outside?’ Agata asked in Italian.

‘Would it be better to take this inside? It’s getting quite dark.’ Ivy intervened before Antonio could make his decree.

Antonio looked at her, frowning as if she had said something unexpected, his eyes beginning to narrow. She looked away, and Agata cleared her throat.‘Signor?’

‘Salotto.’

Relief swept through Ivy as she followed him to the living room. He turned back to her, as if he were about to ask her a question, when clipped, determined footsteps claimed their attention.

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